Speak, Heart !

"These varied chapters in your hand,

With fond indulgence; witty, tragic,

The casual, the idealistic,

The fruit of carefree hours, unplanned,

Insomnia, pale inspiration,

Unripe powers, or fading art,

The intellect’s cold observation,

The bitter record of the heart."

-Pushkin, Eugene Onegin

So this is just a....whachamcallit....a pilot ? yeah, this is my pilot entry *grandly sweeps air with her hands*.

If you are going to read my thoughts, there is a very important fact that you absolutely need to know about myself.

I'm ,ladies and gents, basically and fundamentally, messed-up. I think.

The further you go on, the weirder it gets, even I get shocked sometimes, going through my random scribbles after a while.
But who isn't ? crazy and weird, that is.

There are certain things you would like to (or better, for various civil reasons) keep to yourself. And there are other things..other ideas,emotions,experiences or ,most of the time, nonsensical gibberish, that you feel the need to share with total strangers, for if they don't get out, these thoughts, if they don't escape, be allowed to BREATH , they would lose all their meaning and suffocate somewhere inside of you, consuming you in the process.

This is my asylum. 

This is were i get to breath. 

Here, ladies and gentlemen, I would like to leave some scribbles for time to record. A little something, a reminder of Me being here once upon a time, and being alive with feelings and thoughts.
Here, my most reverend audience of readers (of prolly one or two straners), I would like you to listen to my heart speaking.

I present to you my Noir Memoir, the tiara of my reflections, and the flowers of my thoughts.

Lo.

* for those who don't know, the title of this blog is an allusion to Nabokov's memoir, "Speak, Memory".